“Great Spirit isn’t the most accurate description,” Lelbon said with the slow consideration of someone who thrived on particulars. “Great Spirits have a domain: The river controls its valley, an ancient tree guards its forest, and so forth. Winds are different. They can cross dozens of different domains over the course of their day, and since they do not touch the ground, local Great Spirits have little control over them. So, rather than be part of the patchwork of grounded domains, the winds have their own domain in the sky, which is ruled by four lords, one for each cardinal direction. Whenever a wind blows in a direction, it enters the sway of that lord. Illir is the Lord of the West. Therefore, when a wind blows west, it is under the rule of Illir.” He smiled at the space where Eril was circling. “Any given wind will blow in all directions during its lifetime, and thus owes allegiance to all four winds. Angering any of them could mean shutting off that direction forever.”
“A terrible fate,” Eril shuddered. “It is our nature to blow where we choose. Losing a direction for a wind is like losing a limb for a human.”
Miranda nodded slowly, a little overwhelmed. She’d never heard of any of this, not from her lessons in the Spirit Court or her travels, and certainly not from her wind spirit.
“Don’t look so fretful.” Lelbon smiled at her wide-eyed look. “There’s no reason for humans, wizard or otherwise, to know the obligations of the winds. Most spirits don’t even understand how it works. They don’t need to. The winds handle their own affairs.”
“So what are you?” It felt rather personal to ask, but she had to know. “Are you human or…”
Lelbon laughed. “Oh, I’m human. I’m a scholar who studies spirits, wind spirits in particular, which is how I stumbled into my current position. The West Wind is an old, powerful spirit, but also rather eccentric and very interested in the goings-on of humans. In return for letting me study him and his court, I serve him as messenger and ambassador whenever he needs a face people can see. Most people find talking to a wind directly to be quite disconcerting.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Miranda said, glancing sideways at the empty spot where Eril was spinning. “But why did Illir send you to talk to me? What does the West Wind want with a former Spiritualist?”
The man pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Your reputation among spirits who care about this sort of thing is quite exemplary, Miranda Lyonette. Particularly your daring rescue of the captured Great Spirit Mellinor.”
Miranda jerked. “You know about that?”
Lelbon chuckled. “There is very little the winds do not hear, and it was hardly a small event. Next to that, the technicalities of Spirit Court politics and who is or is not officially a Spiritualist aren’t important. All I need to know is would you be willing to do a job for us?”
Miranda sat back. “Thank you for the compliment, but I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person. You would be much better off taking your plea to the Rector Spiritualis in Zarin.”
“Ah,” the man said. “My master has already determined that the Spirit Court is not in a position to offer the assistance we require, which is precisely why I was sent to find you. Won’t you at least hear our offer?”
Miranda frowned, then nodded. After all, what harm could there be in just hearing him out?
Lelbon smiled and leaned closer. “As I explained, the Wind Lords, while very powerful spirits, aren’t technically Great Spirits, in that they don’t have dominion over a specific area. Even so, they, like all large, elder spirits, have a duty to protect and look after spirits less powerful than themselves. So it has always been. Now, this arrangement seems simple enough on the surface, but in reality it’s a delicate balance of responsibilities. The winds are required to act on whatever problems they see in the domains they cross over. Yet, as they have no real dominion over any spirits except wind spirits, this often means nothing more than reporting the problem to the local Great Spirit, who deals with the trouble in its own way, if at all.”
“Doesn’t sound very reliable,” Miranda said.
“That depends on the Great Spirit,” Lelbon said. “If they are open to outside assistance, things go smoothly, the problem gets dealt with, and everyone moves on. However, if the Great Spirit does not welcome interference in their affairs…” He trailed off, looking for the right word. “Well, let’s say that things can get complicated, which brings us to my offer.”
“Let me guess,” Miranda said. “Your lord has found trouble somewhere where the local Great Spirit doesn’t want him.”
“More or less,” Lelbon said, smiling. “I can’t go into the particulars of the goings-on. My master is already trespassing on dangerous ground simply by seeking you out. All we’re asking you to do is go to the place and make your own assessment as a neutral party. That’s the job. We would pay your expenses, of course, and my master would be very grateful.”
For a long moment, Miranda was very tempted. It sounded like an interesting problem, and it must certainly be urgent if the West Wind would rather pull her in than wait for the Spirit Court to assign someone. But…
“Strictly for curiosity,” Miranda said slowly. “Where would I be going?”
“Are you familiar with the land surrounding the Fellbro River?” Lelbon said. “The duchy called Gaol?”
Miranda froze. “Gaol?”
“Yes,” Lelbon said. “Medium-sized holding, about four days’ ride from Zarin.”
“I know where it is,” Miranda muttered. This changed everything. Gaol was where Hern kept his tower. “Look,” she said. “You seem to know a great deal about me, so you know I can’t go to Gaol. That’s Hern’s land. If I was seen there at all, everyone would think I was there for revenge. Anywhere else I could maybe help you, but not Gaol.”
“It is precisely because of your history with Hern that we chose you,” Lelbon said seriously.
Miranda’s eyes widened. “You think Hern is involved?”
“Let me put it this way,” Lelbon said, leaning closer. “If he were doing his job as a Spiritualist, would we need to ask your help? We need
They stared at each other for a long moment and then Miranda looked away. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve muddied the Spirit Court’s reputation too much as it is already. If I go and make a scene in Gaol, I’ll be no better than the thief Monpress. Tell your master thank you for the offer, but I can’t do it.”
They sat in silence, and then, slowly, Lelbon stood up.
“Well,” he said, “if that’s your final decision, I won’t insult you with arguments. However”-he reached into the folds of his white robe and drew out a little square of bright, colored paper-“should you change your mind, just give us a signal.”
He pushed the folded paper into Miranda’s hands before she could refuse and turned away, padding across the sand toward the cave’s mouth. Belatedly, Miranda stood up and hurried after to show him out. It was only good manners, though she felt a bit ridiculous playing hostess in a cave. Even so, Lelbon smiled graciously as she ducked with him under the cave’s low-hanging lip and out onto the stony beach.
“I am sorry,” Miranda started to say, but the man shook his head.
“All I ask is that you think about it. After all”-his soft voice took on a cutting edge-“you are the Spiritualist. You must decide how best to uphold your duty.”
Miranda winced at that, but said nothing. Lelbon smiled politely and, after a little bow, walked away down the beach. She watched him go, feeling slightly awkward. After his dramatic and mysterious arrival, she’d thought for sure his exit would be something more dramatic than ambling down the stony beach. But the old man kept walking, his bare feet deftly dodging the patches of stone and broken shells, growing smaller and smaller behind the clouds of sea spray. She was about to turn back into her cave when she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye.
Far down the shore, she saw Lelbon raise his hand, as if he were hailing someone. As his hand went up, a great wind rose, whipping Miranda’s hair across her face as it barreled down the beach. It reached Lelbon seconds after passing her, and the old man’s shapeless robe belled out around him like a kite. As she watched, his bare feet left the sand. He soared up with the wind, the white of his robe like a seabird against the dull gray sky, and vanished over the cliffs. Miranda ran into the water, hoping to see more of his amazing flight, but the sky was empty, and the old man was already gone.
She was still staring when the sound of something heavy landing in the sand behind her made her spin around. Gin crouched behind her, panting as if he’d run the whole cliff line. “What’s going on? What was that enormous wind?”
“Wasn’t it amazing?” Eril said before Miranda could even open her mouth. “It was one of the great winds who serve the west. I’ve never met a wind so large!”
“What was a great wind doing here?” Gin growled, glaring at the sky.
“Trying to give us a job,” Eril said, whirling so that his words blasted into Miranda’s face. “I can’t believe you
